Текст книги "Prom and Prejudice"

Автор книги: Elizabeth Eulberg

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Prom and Prejudice

Elizabeth Eulberg

FOR MY MOTHER,

WHOSE ENTHUSIASM FOR BOOKS IS

CONTAGIOUS,

AND MY FATHER,

WHO INSPIRES ME TO BE A BETTER

PERSON

One

IT IS A TRUTH UNIVERSALLY ACKNOWLEDGED, THAT A SINGLE girl of high standing at Longbourn Academy must be in want of a prom date.

While the same can probably be said of countless other schools across the country, prom at Longbourn isn't just a rite of passage – it's considered by many (at least those who matter) to be the social event for future members of high society. Longbourn girls don't go to the mall to get their dresses. No, they boast couture from designers whose names adorn their speed dial.

Just look at the glossy six-page spread dedicated to more than a century of prom history in Longbourn's recruitment brochure. Or the yearly coverage in the New York Times Sunday Style section ... or Vanity Fair ... or Vogue. Fashion reporters and photographers flock to the Connecticut campus to scope out the fashion, the excess, the glamour of it all. It is Fashion Week for the silver spoon set.

The tradition started in 1895, the first year Longbourn opened its doors. Originally set up as a finishing school for proper ladies, the founders realized they needed to have an event to usher their students into the elite world. And while girls nowadays don't really need to be formally "welcomed" into society, nobody wants to give up a weekend-long excuse to dress up and attempt to outshine one another. Friday night is the reception where the couples (consisting of Longbourn girls and, for the most part, boys from the neighboring Pemberley Academy) are introduced. Saturday night is the main event and Sunday afternoon is a brunch where reporters interview the students about the previous evening.

Students become fixated on prom from the day they get accepted. To not attend, or have the proper date, would be a scandal from which a young girl would never be able to recover.

Imagine the chaos that erupted a few years ago, when a scholarship student not only snagged the most sought-after boy at Pemberley, but showed up in a dress from Macy's (the horror!) and caught the eye of the New York Times reporter, who ended up putting her, and her story, on the cover of the Style section.

Up to that point, most students tolerated the two scholarship students in each class. But this was too much.

The following year, hazing began. Most scholarship students couldn't last more than two years. The program only continued because the board of trustees was adamant about diversifying the student body (and by diversify, they meant having students whose parents didn't earn seven-figure yearly bonuses). Plus, the scholarship students, often called "charity cases," helped boost the academic record and music program.

Given the opportunities, education-wise, the scholarship students try to put up with the behavior. After all, this kind of experience couldn't have happened at home. So there was a price to pay for the best teachers, resources, and connections. That price – condescension, taunts, pranks – got old pretty quickly.

It's not easy, though. It only took the new scholarship girl in the junior class two days before she broke down in tears. Fortunately, she was alone in her room and nobody saw her. But it happened. I should know. Because that was my room, and my tears. I was a scholarship student. A charity case. One of them.

There was a giant target on my back.

And I had to do everything possible to avoid getting hit.

Two

THE STOMACH PAINS ALWAYS STARTED ONCE THE TRAIN pulled out of Grand Central Station in Manhattan. When I first took the trip, I had butterflies in my stomach, but now I knew better. Now the butterflies had turned to vipers.

Part of me should've been impressed that I'd been able to survive my first semester at Longbourn. I knew I would have difficulties coming in as a junior, but nothing could've prepared me for the cold, wet greeting given to me by several girls on my floor. They thought a proper hello was throwing a milk shake in my face on my way to orientation. I could still feel the cold shock of the strawberry slush hitting my face. I ended up being late to orientation, and when the headmistress asked me for my excuse, I told her I'd gotten lost. I heard snickering throughout the room and wondered how many people had been in on the hazing.

Most of the other things they did to me were subtler: replacing my shampoo with hair removal lotion (luckily, I could smell it before it caused any real damage), tampering with my razor so I got a nasty cut on my leg, putting crushed-up laxatives in my lemonade mix....

I closed my eyes and tried to block out my first week at school. I truly had every intention of coming back from winter break with a positive attitude. I already knew whom to avoid (pretty much everybody except for my roommate, Jane, and the other "charity case" in our class, Charlotte). I was doing well in my classes. I already established myself as the top pianist on campus (which was really important since I was on a music scholarship). And I had a job that I liked because I was able to interact with somewhat normal people (aka "townies"). Oh, and I needed the money. It always seemed to come back to money.

And then there was Ella Gardiner, my piano teacher. She was one of the most prestigious piano instructors in the country, she was on the board of directors at countless music institutions, and she had the reputation of getting her students into the top music programs upon graduation. She was the reason I came to Longbourn, and she was why I had subjected myself to what came along with being a scholarship student.

I grasped on to the scrapbook my friends back home had made me for Christmas. I flipped through the pages of photos, notes, memories from my former life. The life in which I had a tight circle of friends, one that never made me question whether I belonged. I smiled as I looked at the pages filled with photos from the many traditions we started in grade school: Anna's Valentine's Day parties (no boys allowed), our Halloween re-creations of Grease in my living room, holiday gatherings. Then I came to the final section of the scrapbook – the pages filled with the programs of my various recitals and concerts over the years and photos of my friends gathered around me to celebrate. The very last page had a program from a concert by Claudia Reynolds, the classical pianist that I looked up to, along with a note signed by everybody: To the next Claudia Reynolds, we miss you, but know you're going to accomplish great things. Don't forget us when you're playing Carnegie Hall.

My eyes began to sting with tears. I could never forget my friends, but I had almost forgotten what it was like to have a supportive group of people cheering me on. I closed my eyes and tried to hold on to the memory tightly so it wouldn't slip away.

It was amazing how two weeks away from campus could give you a false sense of security. As the train pulled into the station, I envisioned a force field, like an emotional shield, enveloping my body.

I was smarter, wiser. And I knew better than to let any childish taunts get the best of me. My barrier was up and there was no way I was going to let anybody in.

There was only one person I couldn't wait to see when I got on campus.

"Lizzie!" Jane greeted me as I walked into our room. I'd visited Jane a few times in Manhattan over the break, since I lived right across the Hudson River, in Hoboken, New Jersey. Jane even came to a party one of my friends had back home, and impressed even my most critical friends with her kindheartedness. I knew that someone, somewhere had to be looking out for me to have Jane as my roommate.

After we caught up, Jane wanted to get down to business. "So, we have a very important decision to make." She went over to her closet and pulled out three cocktail dresses. "Which one should I wear tonight?"

My stomach dropped. Longbourn was hosting an upperclassman reception with Pemberley Academy. The official reason was to welcome the returning students who spent last semester abroad. But I had a feeling it was the start of hunting season (the catch being a prom date).

"You promised me you would go!" Jane reminded me.

"I know, I know." I tried to sound optimistic. But unfortunately, Jane could always see through me.

"Here, try this on." Jane handed me a beautiful black dress. I always had to borrow clothes from her anytime we had a formal event. And we had a lot of formal events.

I was standing in our room, half naked, when Jane's younger sister, Lydia, burst through the door. She didn't believe in knocking ... or doing anything considerate.

After I zipped up the dress, Lydia flounced on my bed and declared, "Is that what you're going to wear?"

"Lydia," Jane scolded, "I think Lizzie looks fabulous."

I smiled. "You have to think that, Jane – it's your dress."

"Oh, right." Lydia's face fell. "Sorry, Lizzie. It's just that Jane can lend you all her clothes, but you can't necessarily make them fit."

"Lydia!" Jane threw a notebook at her sister. "You need to be more polite, especially ..."

Jane let her thought trail off. But both Lydia and I knew what she meant.

Jane and Lydias father had been laid off over Christmas when his company had merged with another investment bank. Not that it mattered much – he got a huge payout and money didn't seem like an issue. Although as word spread throughout campus, you would've thought Jane and Lydia came back from the holidays with leprosy.

As Jane and I finished getting ready, Lydia began whining. "No fair. Why can't I come? You better at least let me go promdress shopping with you."

Jane blushed. "Slow down – nobody's been asked to anything."

"Yet," Lydia countered.

"The reception tonight is just an opportunity for us to catch up after the holidays."

"Yeah, especially with a certain someone returning from London!" Lydia jumped up on my bed, acting years younger than the freshman student she was, and put her hand up to her heart. "Oh, Charles Bingley, how I missed you so!" She dropped onto the bed with an exaggerated sigh.

"That's it!" Jane started shooing Lydia out the door. "Out! We need to finish getting ready." She started nervously adjusting her bracelet.

Charles Bingley had spent the previous semester studying abroad in London. Before he left, Jane and Charles had started to get close. From what Jane told me, nothing really happened, since they knew there was about to be an ocean between them. Jane generally kept her feelings close to the vest, but with Charles's imminent arrival, she had become openly giddy. Especially once her sister was out of the room.

"Oh, Charles Bingley, how I missed you so!" Jane called out, laughing. But then she clearly felt that was too much. She examined herself in the mirror and added, "I guess there is no reason for me to get my hopes up. He probably e-mailed with a lot of girls last semester."

One of the most wonderful things about Jane, besides her kindness, was that she had absolutely no idea how beautiful she was. She was completely void of vanity.

"I'm just excited to see him again," she went on. "I'm sure he'll have tons of girls fighting over him for prom."

"You're being ridiculous, Jane! Seriously! If Charles Bingley is even half the guy you say he is, he'd be a raving lunatic to not ask you to prom."

Jane had promised me that Charles was different from the other Pemberley boys I'd met. Talking to them was like being placed into conversational purgatory, with no hope of being released without significant damage to one's self-esteem. The first time I met a Pemberley guy, the first words out of his mouth were "Which mutual funds do you invest in?" When I told another Pemberley boy that I played the piano, he responded, "Is there money in that?" Another had mentioned that his father was in the Forbes 400 ("and not in the bottom two hundred, either") within a minute of meeting me. A fourth had kept his eyes on my chest the whole time we spoke. And then he moved on to the next girl's chest. For Jane's sake, I prayed she was right about Charles being unlike those guys.

Jane smiled and took me by the elbow. "You are too kind, Lizzie. Just promise me that you'll try to enjoy yourself tonight. You'll have fun. I promise."

I desperately wanted to believe that I could be accepted and treated like a normal person at school. But after last semester, I had no desire to be friends with most of the girls here. How could I be friends with the same people who found so much pleasure in torturing me?

No, I knew better. I would do my best to have an incident-free evening. My armor was up and I was ready.

Three

WE ENTERED FOUNDERS HALL ON CAMPUS, DECORATED with tiny, white lights that glistened off the floor-length windows and crystal chandeliers. Even after four months, I still wasn't used to the grandeur of the buildings here. My old high school consisted of cement blocks and fluorescent lighting, not rich mahogany and stained glass.

"So beautiful ... and this is just for a reception," Jane reminded me as we took in the view. Or at least I took in the view – Jane was scanning the crowd, looking for Charles. "Can you imagine what they'll do for prom?" she asked.

I had heard so much about prom at Longbourn. But I tried to not think about it. I knew there would be no way that I would be able to go. Most of the Pemberley students couldn't bear to look at me, let alone want to ask me to anything. And the standards were so ridiculously high. The students in the room for the "reception" were more dressed up than any Hoboken High prom-goer. If this was casual, I couldn't imagine what formal would be.

Jane was approached by a girl with dirty-blond hair done up in an elaborate twist and diamonds, actual diamonds, dripping from her ears and wrist.

"Jane, dear," the girl purred, making it sound half like a greeting and half like a formality.

"Hi, Caroline, welcome back. How are you settling in?"

"Fabulous. I'm so sorry I haven't been able to catch up with you since I returned from London. Things have been so hectic." Caroline began to look me up and down. "And who is this?"

Jane put her arm around my shoulder. "This is Lizzie Bennet. She started last semester."

"Bennet? I'm afraid I don't know your family. Where do you vacation?"

The questions. These questions were always the start. It didn't take too long after asking questions about my family – what they did for a living, where our second house was, the status of my father's 40IK – that my true identity would be revealed.

"LBI," I deadpanned.

Caroline's eyes widened. "Sorry?"

I wasn't sure if I was imagining it, but I believe I detected a slight British accent. I wasn't aware that you could pick up one of those in a few months. I'd been at Longbourn the same amount of time Caroline had been in London, and I knew I wasn't speaking with an entitled accent.

"LBI. Long Beach Island. You know, on the Jersey shore? I'm a scholarship kid, so I don't get off the continent much." I decided it would be best to get it out of the way.

"Oh." Caroline crinkled her nose as if she could smell the mediocrity. "Anyway, Jane, lovely to see you. We must catch up soon." She kissed Jane good-bye and turned without giving me a second look.

"That's Charles's twin sister," Jane whispered in my ear.

"That's Caroline Bingley?" I tried to not groan. "Jane, I seriously question your taste in guys."

Jane grimaced. "Charles is nothing like her. He's really close with her and cares what she thinks ... but Charles is ... he's ..." Jane became flushed. "He's right over there."

I followed Jane's gaze to two guys who'd just entered the hall. "Which one is he?"

"The one on the right."

The two guys couldn't have looked more different. The one on the right, Charles, was walking around the room, smiling and greeting people. He had the same dirty-blond hair as Caroline, but his blue eyes sparkled with positive energy. Everybody seemed happy to see him, and he, in turn, seemed genuinely excited to be there.

The other guy was harder to read. He was tall with dark hair and a look of eternal disdain etched upon his face. He might have looked handsome if he hadn't looked like he was in pain.

"Who's the guy he's with?" I asked.

Jane let her glance leave Charles for a moment. "Will Darcy."

"Is there something wrong with him?"

Jane shrugged her shoulders. "He does look a little upset. Will can sometimes be overly serious, but his brood is worse than his bite. If you get the chance to know him."

I had a feeling there weren't going to be many people here this evening that I would want the chance of knowing. And I was pretty sure the feeling would be mutual.

"Jane!" Charles made his way right to her. "Just the person I've been waiting to see!" He threw his arms around her and hugged her tightly.

Jane was speechless, and her long hair could not disguise her reddening face.

Charles, beaming from ear to ear, turned to me. "Hi, I don't think we've met. I'm Charles Bingley."

"Lizzie Bennet."

He shook my hand and gave me a warm smile. "Lizzie, so good to meet you. I've heard all about you from Jane. She says nothing but the nicest things."

Because Jane was a saint. She couldn't say anything bad about anybody. And believe me, I had tried to get her to.

Charles turned to his quiet friend, who had been peering around. "Darcy, come here and say hi to Jane and her friend Lizzie."

Darcy approached and gave Jane a quick kiss on the cheek. Then he turned toward me and his hazel eyes locked with mine.

"Hello," he said, shaking my hand and giving me a small, curious smile.

"Hello," I replied. I was slightly unnerved by his expression. He could have been judging me. Or he could have been making a slight overture toward acquaintance. Or he could have been plotting a way to throw me into the fountain outside.

He opened his mouth to say something else, then thought the better of it and decided to walk briskly away.

Charles laughed this off. "I don't think Darcy has recovered from the jet lag! Lizzie, it's really great to meet you, but would you mind if I take Jane away for a dance?"

Jet lag seemed to be the least likely reason for Darcy's rudeness, but Charles and Jane were so desperate to be in each other's arms on the dance floor that I could hardly prolong the conversation. As the two of them began to dance, I walked aimlessly around the cavernous hall trying to find Charlotte, my only other friend on campus. I weaved through conversations between my fellow classmates – bragging about opulent holiday gifts, swapping tales of exotic destinations – conversations I couldn't be a part of. After a few minutes, I gave up and went over to the refreshment table and began to fix myself a cup of tea.

"Looks like you just can't stay away from your work, huh?" Cat de Bourgh, daughter of an old Texas oil tycoon, said as she came up behind me. "My dad is just like that, except he runs a multibillion-dollar corporation. He doesn't consider brewing coffee a career."

Comments like this would just bounce off my shield. No, I didn't have a trust fund. In truth, I didn't really understand what a trust fund was, except that it made people act like jerks. I always found solace in the fact that I was genuinely more intelligent than the majority of my class, and that while they'd gotten in because of birthright, I'd made my way by talent alone.

After all, money can only buy you so much.

I turned around and smiled sweetly at her. "I'm guessing your daddy doesn't think saying things like 'venti half-caf, skinny latte' is too impressive, either. But if that makes you feel smart – when really, you're just asking for a decaf coffee with skim milk – who am I to judge?"

Cat picked up a discarded cup of coffee and smirked malevolently as she poured it onto my dress. "Oops," she said with a smile as she walked away.

My upper thighs began to burn from the still-hot liquid. I tried to not make any noise as I quickly grabbed napkins.

"Are you okay?" A hand was on my arm, and instinctually I pulled away.

It was Will Darcy.

"Oh, sorry," I said. "Yes, I'm wonderful. Great party ..."

I went to the corner to try to save Jane's dress. The last thing I needed was to go to the ladies' room. The bathroom was one of the most vulnerable places on campus, an easy trap. Just another lesson from my fine education last semester.

"Here." Darcy came over and handed me a napkin soaked in seltzer water.

"Thanks." I had to try to nonchalantly put my arm up my dress to wipe off my legs.

"I agree with you on this being a wonderful party." He leaned in. "I hate these things. Charles had to drag me."

"I guess that's something he and Jane have in common – their powers of persuasion."

"And we, despite our better judgment, allow ourselves to be persuaded."

"Yeah, well, I guess the two of us have that one thing in common."

Darcy looked perplexed. "What makes you think we wouldn't have anything more in common?"

I let out a little laugh. I had forgotten that he didn't know about me ... and my situation.

Darcy turned his attention back to the matter of the ruined dress. "Is it coming out?"

I shook my head. While the dress was black, it had a delicate chiffon layer that was becoming crusty from the coffee.

"Jane is going to hate me," I said with a sigh.

Darcy was confused. "Why would Jane hate you?"

"This is her dress. I could never own a dress as nice as this. But maybe now she'll let me stay in my room once and for all instead of trying to turn the duckling into a swan with some borrowed feathers."

"Oh." Something had begun to register on Darcy's face. The amused look had been replaced with a slow understanding of what was going on. It irritated me that he seemed to be helpful and genuinely concerned for me ... until he found out about my deep, dark secret.

"Yeah, I'm a scholarship student."

Darcy grimaced at the word scholarship. It looked like the mere mention of us charity cases caused a migraine.

"I see," he replied. He gestured again to the coffee stain. "Well, good luck with that." Then he left as abruptly as he'd come.

I stood there with my hands full of dirty, coffee-soaked napkins. I shouldn't have been surprised that once he found out the truth about me he wouldn't want to be seen in my presence. I guess this was a reminder from the universe that nothing was going to be different this semester. I was who I was, and I should have considered myself lucky that there were at least a couple people who accepted me.

I headed toward the exit. I had tried to make an effort, and now my effort was done. It was best to not tempt fate any further.

"Well, hello, Elizabeth," a voice interrupted.

I stopped dead in my tracks. My evening certainly wasn't going to get any better.

"Hi, Colin," I replied.

Colin Williams was one of the few Pemberley students who would talk to me. At first I thought it was because he was a bigger person than his breeding dictated. (At least one member of his infamous family has had a seat in Congress for decades.) But soon I realized that Colins friendliness toward me was because he was quite possibly the most boring person in the world, and few other people could tolerate being in a conversation with him. Not surprisingly, nobody thought of giving me a heads-up before I got stuck in an hour-long discussion (although, can it be a discussion if only one person was doing the talking?) with him at the beginning of the year about the benefits of private education. (There were many, and he listed them all.) By the time he was through, he was as surprised as I was that I was still standing there. Ever since, he has sought me out at any social event our two schools have had.

"How were your holidays?" he asked me now.

"Fine. And yours?"

"Fabulous – we went to our house in St. Bart's for Christmas. The weather there this time of year is most agreeable. The record low temperature is sixty-five-point-three degrees Fahrenheit, and we didn't come close to that. In fact, we were well above the average of sixty-nine-point-eight degrees Fahrenheit, which was a blessing, I tell you. A blessing." He brushed off a piece of lint from his tweed jacket. Colin not only dressed like he was thirty years older than his actual age, but he spoke like an elderly professor – both in his choice of words and the amount of time it took him to get out a sentence. "I do enjoy getting out of the cold of Connecticut, where the average temperature for December hovers around forty degrees Fahrenheit. Which is better than the January average – but still. Where did you spend Christmas?"

"Cranford."

He looked at me blankly.

"My grandmother lives in Cranford ... New Jersey."

"How quaint."

"Yes, quaint." I looked around, hoping to spot Jane so she could save me. But she and Charles were looking very cozy in the corner.

"How are you enjoying this reception?" Colin asked.

"To be honest –"

"I think the staff did a fantastic job decorating the hall. The lights are reminiscent of the ones we had inside our main foyer at our house in Boston. I don't think you can properly decorate for the holidays without white lights. They truly are beautiful in –"

"Colin!" I interrupted. (If I didn't, I was never going to be able to leave.) "I spilled coffee on my dress and really need to get home."

"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that. You know, the best thing for a stain is to soak it overnight in hot water. At least that's according to my former nanny, and let me tell you, she had certainly seen some stains in her day. My brothers and I never saw a mud field we didn't –"

"Colin, I've got to go." I didn't even wait for him to say goodbye. I hated being rude to him because he was always nice to me, but I was so miserable I didn't think I could handle another word from his mouth.

I was only a few yards away from the exit when I saw none other than Darcy standing there, looking at his watch. Before he could see me, I ducked behind a column, trying to figure if there was another way I could leave. As I did, I spied Charles coming over to talk with his friend, blocking any escape route I could've had.

"Darcy, isn't it great to be back?" I heard Charles say. "You have to admit this is a welcome sight, especially after four months in dreary London."

"Hardly," Darcy said drily. "I am starting to think that I should have stayed in London. Being back has been harder than I thought. I don't know why I let you drag me to this thing. The girls here are practically foaming at the mouth over prom. And here I was, under the impression that Longbourn girls had class. Silly me."

Charles laughed. "What are you talking about? You've clearly let all that English rain dampen your spirits. How could you say that about my sister ... and Jane? And what about Jane's friend Lizzie? You should ask her to dance."

Darcy groaned. "I don't think so. Did you know she's a scholarship student?" "So?"

There was a silent pause.

"Darcy, not every person ..."

"Are you so naive that you would think that the first person I would want to greet with open arms on campus is a scholarship student? Really, Charles? I went to London to get away from –"

A flurry of girls heading to the ladies' room blocked the view of my hiding place for a second, so I took the opportunity to walk away. I didn't want to hear another word. I stayed along the border of the hall until Will Darcy had left and the exit was clear. I couldn't believe that he had so much open hatred for the unrich. Silly me for thinking, even for that short moment while he was helping me, that he was any different from anyone else around here.

He was the same. They were all the same.

I was the only one who was different.